


Space, Time, Love (and Meetings)

by TheOtherEyeIsNotResponsive



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, Gift Giving, M/M, Pining, Secret Solenoid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 04:06:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17317787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOtherEyeIsNotResponsive/pseuds/TheOtherEyeIsNotResponsive
Summary: Thunderclash falls in love with Rodimus, and everyone but him knows.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Minor/briefly mentioned characters: Ultra Magnus, Megatron, and Swerve
> 
> TF secret Santa for Radishwine on tumblr! Hope this is what you were looking for! And if not, then maybe it’s still enjoyable to read. 
> 
> Sorry if it seems a little rushed, and if the style is sorta all over the place - I’ve never written this much in a month before. Or edited so much… hoy boy ^^

The Lost Light has an uncontested reputation of running headfirst from one adventure to another. When Thunderclash had the pleasure of boarding the infamous Lost Light, he hadn’t considered it to have such a strict and vibrantly full schedule of meetings. Or at least, command meetings he’s been invited to.

An hour into the first of, according to calendar, many such meetings, and Thunderclash is forced to label them as interesting, but _incredibly_ monotonous. Some ships are just like that sometimes. He just, didn’t quite expect it to happen under the Lost Light’s equally interesting captain.

Who was currently doing his best to pay attention it seemed. But, it’s like witnessing a flame trying to thrive in water. It’s a valiant effort, but painful to watch.

Ultra Magnus’ report is wonderful in it's own way, but certainly not to Rodimus’ taste. Everytime the captain loses control of his field, Thunderclash can feel the antsy need to move - the need to _do_ something. He can feel the rapid vibration of the mech’s leg bouncing under the table.

The captain’s knee bumps the table’s underside. By the small look of horror on his faceplates at the noise, it was completely accidental.

Ultra Magnus turns sharply on his heels, optics immediately locking onto Rodimus’. “I’d appreciate if you concentrated. These meetings, and everyone in this room deserve more respect than _that_.” This must be the last straw for the great Ultra Magnus.

But Thunderclash disagrees with him, quite bored as well. Extra security measures around the training locker rooms are not that particularly interesting, nor as deserving of respect as Ultra Magnus would believe. Thunderclash has sympathy for Rodimus.

“I know I know. I _am_ concentrating,” Rodimus says, seemingly shrinking in on himself.

Ultra Magnus gives him a flat look. “What was I _just_ talking about?”

Rodimus freezes, mouth trying to form the glyphs to explain himself. Megatron, nearest to Ultra Magnus, gives a disapproving look. Drift gives a sheepish smile. The situation honestly feels like a cruel sort of scheduled torture.

“What has this meeting been about?”

Rodimus starts playing with a stylus, no longer meeting Ultra Magnus’ optics, confidence wilted. He really is trying his hardest, Thunderclash knows somehow, but he thrives in fast pace constant stimulation situations. Not… not this.

Thunderclash pings him the answer.

Rodimus straightens, and turns his helm slowly towards him. Their optics lock and Thunderclash gets a h.u.d. full of seething hatred.

He recoils, time slowly down to a halt. His spark, something smoothly clicks into place within it, something that feels more at home than a perfect transformation sequence. There’s warmth spreading within him, and a shining light behind Rodimus. He can feel a conversation happening around him, but can’t hear anything but the spinning of his spark. He’s heard stories, but never thought it would happen like this for him. In this moment, Thunderclash knows he’s in fallen for Rodimus of Nyon, Captain of the Lost Light.

“I’m sorry, Ultra Magnus. I’ll do better next time.”

“Yes… next time,” the glyphs seem to be full of dread of having to spend the next however many centuries with the exact opposite of his target audience. Though that really doesn’t seem to stop him from continuing on where he started. What a professional.

When the meeting eventually does end, Rodimus is out his chair, out the door and down the hallway. Thunderclash’s spark feels like it follows him out, but he can’t. Pleasantries, thank yous, and goodbyes must be said, and no matter how much he...dislikes Megatron’s status, he must treat him as he should.

He heads back to his habsuite to review whatever in the galaxy that was. He has feelings for Rodimus, captain of the Lost Light. But if the look he gave him is anything to go by, Rodimus does not share these feelings. He’s fine with this, he wouldn’t push himself on anyone. He can keep his feelings to himself.

But he is curious of why Rodimus doesn’t like him - maybe it’s a minor miscommunication he can clear up? He pulls up the private com number for the third in command, and from what he can tell from their introductions, best friend of Rodimus. He send him a short message, and hunkered down - ready to wait a while for a response.

The reply was almost instantaneous: <It’s because you’re perfect. It’s not something you can change, and probably not something Rodimus can change either. Sorry.>

‘Perfect.’ Oh dear. Definitely not a miscommunication, and he certainly can’t change Rodimus’ perception of him. And yet, he still feels comfortable with that.

Rodimus will probably never love him, or even like him, but that’s ok. As long as Rodimus gets to feel genuine happiness for as long as possible, that’s all that matters. Hated or not, he’ll be there on the sidelines cheering him on. Maybe he can even help bring him relief during meetings...

 

 ~o0o~                                                                             

 

The Lost Light is a lot larger than the Vis Vitalis. A lot larger by a ridiculously huge margin. And so when he needed a break from other mechs, who in the politest terms were definitely not giving him space, exploring the numerous winding hallways was an easy, simple solution. Knowing that, he really didn’t think he’d end up getting lost in the bowels of the ship.

He knows he can easily pull up the Lost Light's schematics Ultra Magnus had sent him, but really that’d just be admitting defeat. Certainly, at the very least, he can find a lift by himself?

And seeing the state of deserted rooms pass by as he walks, gives the calm of knowing where to go when he gets overwhelmed with the crew, and of being asked to sign autographs. As much as he enjoys interacting with fans, of hearing stories, of seeing mechs who’ve put him on a pedestal for so long he’s sure they’re disappointed with the real thing… It can be a bit much, at times. He feels so undeserving of their praise.

A flash of red and gold in his peripheral. Frozen mid stride. He turns his helm to see the back of Rodimus hunched over table. He shows no sign of having seen him, and Thunderclash releases a hitched vent.

Curious, he makes his way closer to the open door he had almost passed, as quietly as he can. Interesting of how the mech hadn’t heard him - he wasn’t really a quiet mech by design, or weight.

From this angle, he could see a portion of Rodimus’ face, brows furled, optics intent - deep in concentration. In his servo he holds a seemingly makeshift paintbrush, wistful strokes upon a canvas of sheet metal. He sits at a table, no, a work bench surrounded by collected tools, paints, brushes, and other items he doesn’t understand the purpose of.

A brief glance proves the rest of the room baren, broken bits of furniture piled in one corner.

His optics flick back to what he can see of the painting.

The scene is dark - sunset lighting strong enough still to filter through the skyline. The reds and oranges used almost makes it feel like they’re on fire.

It’s hauntingly beautiful.

But it seems almost complete. Rodimus must be applying the finishing touches.

A sense of dread washes over him. He shouldn’t be witnessing this. He hadn’t been invited into Rodimus’ very limited private time, and certainly not invited into the sanctuary of his work room.

He was intruding, and should leave. Quietly.

He saves the image of a still, deep in concentration and sweetly content Rodimus to memory, and continues on his way to where he hopes a lift will be.

Rodimus enjoys spending his off time making art. No one so heavily invested in handmade supplies would be otherwise. What a wonderful discovery, Thunderclash thinks. Maybe he’d enjoy something mobile that’d allow him to express himself. Content, and absolutely prepared to incorporate this idea into a gift, he sees a lift in the distance.

 

 ~o0o~                                                                             

 

Unsurprisingly, the message comes during a meeting, and he can’t help but smile and look at Rodimus. The favor he pulled was successful, and both gifts will be delivered when the Lost Light stops for supplies in a week. His field bubbles with excitement, though he tries his best to hold it tight to his frame. He hopes Rodimus will find happiness within them.

Now, he just has to think of how he’ll deliver them. He had considered doing so himself, for a moment, before realizing that Rodimus could be the type mech who’d destroy them out of spite.

A message pops up on h.u.d. <If you keep looking at him like that, mech will start to think you have a crush.> Sender: Drift. He realizes he never looked away from Rodimus. Good thing Rodimus hadn’t noticed. He gives his helm a small shake, and brings optics front, though eyes Drift in his peripheral. Frame lax, helm front, outwardly completely paying attention to the latest report. How obvious had he been with his staring for this mech to notice?

<What if I do?>

A pause that draws out too long to be comfortable.

<I’m sorry to say Thunderclash, but it’s unlikely he’ll ever return the feeling.>

<I know.. That’s ok. I don’t want to intrude on his life. I just… I just really want to make him happy.>

<I can understand that. Between you and me, Rodimus is one of the most important mechs in my life, and I’m lucky for him to be a part of it. I love him so much, and his happiness is important to me.>

Comfortable silence. Thunderclash asks meeting related question.

<I have two gifts incoming that I think he’d enjoy. One might help him in meetings, and the other might help make his art more mobile. Easier to hide->

<Don’t tell anyone about his art. It’s confidential. He’d love those though. How thoughtful of you. Continue?>

<Understood. Would it be possible if you could deliver them to him? I’ll have it all wrapped, and can describe how to use them to you, so you can be there for him if any questions arise. I believe it’d be significantly better if you did the delivery over me,>

<Yes, no problem. Yeah he’d definitely destroy them if he knew they were from you - good call. Let me know when and where I can meet you for pick up and I’ll get it done.>

<After the resupply. Training room #3. I’ll send specifics closer to date.>

<Copy. You really must get better at hiding your loving gaze though. You’re a very popular mech, and the crew is very fond of gossip. They’ll pick up your love-struck scent like a pack of hungry turbo-wolves. Bet you right now there’ll be betting pools. It’ll be super uncomfortable for you. Rodimus will manage, if he notices at all.>

<I’m… not sure I can. Hiding feelings is not a strong point of mine.>

<Then welcome to the loving Rodimus club, mech. You’re in for life now.>

<Happy to be here.>

 

 ~o0o~                                                                             

 

It’s the worst thing in the world to be stuck in his office, trying to finish this primus-saken rust-bucket report. Especially when he’s supposed to be hanging out with Drift.

They always take forever, and they’re so _boring_ . How can anyone focus on this kind of stuff? They’re important, yeah he gets that, but he just can’t _focus_. Or, motivate himself to focus. His mind is always racing and the thoughts are just such a downright jumble. And yet, somehow, he could stare at his servos for hours instead of lifting a pen to write a glyph.

He wishes he could move, or spin his chair, or tap his stylus. But that’ll make noise, and besides, he needs to sit still. No one else in in the room for him to embarrass himself with, but _still,_ it’s the principle. Everyone else can do this report stuff, especially without causing a ruckus. Thunderclash never makes a ruckus. Primus, he misses Nyon.

No no no he needs to focus. No fidgeting, stupid thoughts or hand staring. He can’t. He has to finish that report so he can hang out with Drift. He just… has to figure out what this report needs him to _do._ It’s such a big task. If only he could concentrate…

His engine roars and he pushes away from the desk. “Why does this need to be so frustrating!” he shouts, throwing his arms up in the air.

A knock at the door, codes being inserted and the door opens away and there stands Drift. The best mech in the world, and the perfect distraction. Exactly what he needs. No, he needs to finish the report. No, he needs Drift. It’s as though the mech is glowing, or maybe just the hall lights behind him, but wow he is way more interesting and important than one report.

“I checked your hab and you weren’t there. You still writing that report?” Drift says, walking up to his desk, “mech, it’s getting messy in here again.”

“Oh, it is?”

“Messy? Yeah. How about that report?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s taking _forever_. Can’t it just write itself? I have so much more important stuff to do,” he pouts, leaning back in his chair, watching Drift start to clean up the mess that’s magically appeared around his desk.

Drift looks back at him, “Like what?”

“Hanging with you,” he replies with a smile.

“Get going on your report, I’ll just hang here until you’re done.” And by hang here you mean putting stuff where I can’t find them later, Rodimus thinks sourly.

“Drift come on, you know I can’t focus when you’re here and sooo much more exciting than that boring slag.”

“Ok ok I don’t want to spend all of our hangout time here. No problem.”

After a painstaking hour of walking and redirecting Rodimus’ attention to the report, it finally gets finished. And submitted to Ultra Magnus. Slightly late, but submitted!

 

And when they finally get to Rodimus’ hab, Drift is pulling out two glimmering red and gold boxes. “These are from your secret admirer. He’s explained everything to me, so ask questions if needed.”

They’re handed over to Rodimus. But before he can question the existence of a secret admirer, Rodimus sees the artisanally carved glyphs of his designation. _His_ designation embedded with strength/resilience/confidence. It blows him away with the effort that was put into just the box. One hell of an admirer.

He places them on his lap, somehow already sitting on his bed, and opens the first, largest one.

In it, on a plush setting, lays a strange looking datapad with attached stylus. He picks it up, servos tracing it’s edges, lamenting the smoothness of the screen and the buttons to one side. He presses one, and the device boots up, displaying a cheerful welcome message.

“It’s an artpad,” Rodimus is reminded of Drift’s presence, “portable. You can choose to either attach the stylus through cord so to not lose it, or not and use it’s wireless capability. Cool thing of note: you can extract a color from something physical,” he says, taking the stylus and demonstrating this ability on Rodimus’ chassis, “and it’ll record it for later use. You can even name the colors through audio or text means, here, and get the code of it or something so you can mix your own paints to match.” He hands it back to Rodimus’ grabby motion servos.

“The artpad itself is just as jacked. Even comes with it’s own personal tracker that can connect to your h.u.d. so you won’t lose that either. You can find that in this setting section here,” he swipes away at the screen and points. Rodimus takes all this new information like a champ.

“Oh. The stylus also comes with different tips, I’m assuming no trackers in those so be careful to not lose them.”

Rodimus is stunned. His optics, beads of fluid forming at the edges, lay transfixes on the gift. He can’t believe this is all for him. He hugs it to his chassis. He won’t have to search for discarded paint cans. He won’t have to cater his art to the colors he finds. He will have every color at the tips of his digits. He can create from anywhere and still be discrete about it.

He hopes his flaring field can convey the gratitude he cannot express in glyphs.   

Drift’s servos is on his shoulder,“there’s still one more for you.”

“One more?” he croaks, laiden with static. Drift’s field is comforting, and he summons the energy to set aside the now designated rodpad, and picks up the final, smaller box.

Seeing his designation again forces him to shutter his optics at the new wave of optic fluid forming. He lifts the lid slowly, and there on indented cushion, lays something he’s never seen before.

“It’s called a fidget spinner. The mech consulted with Rung apparently and there hasn’t been any conclusive studies done only anecdotal - so it might not work for you. But if it doesn’t then that’s ok cause there’s a whole market of fidget devices out there that you can try.”

“Wait. Devices soley for fidgeting? I thought fidgeting is bad.” And annoying and harmful to everyone around you. Embarrassing, to top it off.

“Roddy? Who ever said that?”

“Lots of mechs… So I don’t, but anyway what does it do? What do you mean if it doesn’t work?”

“You’re not escaping that conversation, but I’ll get you later.” Drift is very aware that Rodimus hasn’t picked the spinner up yet. “You spin it. The act of spinning is supposed to help you concentrate. Which, by the way, is exactly what fidgeting is. Or as Rung would call it, ‘stimming.’ Acts of self soothing that help self regulate your emotions and thoughts. Can ground you in the moment. And with this,” he says, motioning to the spinner, “you can have something to do with your servos while your mind is occupied.”

“You don’t gotta worry about bugging Ultra Magnus with it, or at least by bugging him sound-wise. It’s the quietest on the market.”

Rodimus hesitantly picks it up, and gives it a spin.

“It also lights up if you press the middle disk.”

Rodimus does so, and his optics turn bright at the sight. “Whoa. Ok, I haven’t been sold on the whole ‘allowed to fidget thing,’ but this _is_ pretty fragging cool.”

The device is in one servo, spinning away.

“I am happy though,” he says giving Drift a warm smile. It’s a direct hit. “You sure my admirer wants to remain anonymous? Think I wanna hug him.”

“Quite certain he does. But,” his expression thoughtful, “I’m sure he’d appreciate the sentiment.”

He fulfills his courier duty <Delivery successful, secret admirer. You should be proud.>

“Now,” Rodimus looks up from fiddling with the lighting color options, “do you still want to watch that show, or,” his expression turns devious, “give those gifts another spin?”

“I see that joke, and it’s not appreciate you big goof,” he jokes, smiling. Drift loves that smile. “But uh…” The confliction between the two, evident on his faceplates.

Both mechs realize at the same time that the door to the habsuite never closed, as a group of chatting mechs come into audial range.

“-oh and did you see him yesterday at Swerves?”

“Thunderclash? No what’d he do?”

“Nothing this time except.. Oh mech you should have seen his optics. I wish he’d look at me like that. He was across the room but you can tell he wanted to be closer~”  
“Oh Rodimus is so lucky to have his attention.”

“Hey isn’t that Rodimus’ hab?”

A moment of slightly panicked silence.

“Oh slag. Shut up I have a bet going and this’ll frag me.”

The group comes into view with nervous laughter. “Hi Rodimus,” a little wave from one, “til all are one am I right?”

They all give their own goodbyes as they walk out of view, silent.

A delayed, “bye guys,” comes from a slightly off-put Rodimus.

Drift is looking at him expectantly, hoping he’ll figure it out.  

The mech, best friend, captain, and survivor of countless battles involving all sorts of intuition, sheepishly turns to Drift and says, “that was weird?”

Drift, expression deadpan, patience of a thousand saints behind those optics, manages to say, “yes, so weird.”

 

Later that day, just as Rodimus is laying in berth, processing the day’s events before deep recharge, he jolts up - realization hitting him like a head on collision.

“Thunderclash _likes_ me?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

That realization. That terrible dawning realization reveals signs he should have noticed earlier, are literally everywhere. Just like his room, he just doesn’t see the mess until it’s pointed out to him. Frag, how can he be this stupid?

Everywhere he goes he can feel his crew watching him, can hear their damned gossip like he’s audials are tuned to that one, channel.

From the bridge, through the hallways, and in the library his plating crawls. He sits down in the most secluded spot he can find.

“They’d make a really cute couple-” Damn it! He stands up immediately, field flaring. Isn’t the library supposed to be quiet?! And of course anyone he can get with, if he totally wanted to, would be a cute couple. Thunderclash would be nothing special.

He stomps out, making his way to Swerve’s - at least he can get a well deserved drink there, and maybe his very noticeable presence will dull the gossip down. He already misses being able to mingle with crew.

Already outside the bar now, he squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath. He can do this - he can have fun without feeling self-conscious.

The door slides open and most optics are on him, which is totally fine - war driven optics are programed to detect movement, he tells himself. Totally not immediately regretting his decision to come here.

He notices Thunderclash in a booth with other mechs, and decides to take a seat with Swerve up at the bar. He orders, and Swerve gives him a completely unnecessary sympathetic look. He considers asking Swerve about all this when he returns with his drink, but instead tunes into a gazillion different Thunderclash related conversations at once. He really is a hot ticket item right now. Wonder how the mech deals with it, he thinks, idly spinning the spinner.

But because the crew’s so used to adventure, that as soon as there’s a quiet moment they’re out looking for mischief. He should really introduce more ship wide activities - maybe he can bring that up in the next meeting. Have a few things drafted up just in case Ultra Magnus asks for elaboration or proof of concept of something.

But what’s this? A betting pool? His crew is betting on if Thunderclash and I will get together? Whether I’ll realize or not that he likes me? There sure are quite a few pools out there, how in the world do they keep track of them all. But! Frag you too random mech! I did realize Thunderclash’s affections towards me, thank you very much. Primus, why can’t they bet on Megatron becoming a better person? Mischief really mismanaged here.

Though he _is_ really curious of what Thunderclash’s now notoriously famous love struck optics look like. He wants to see them, wants to know what optics dim-lidded and full of non-judgemental adoration look like. But he’s afraid. Anxiously afraid in the pit of his tank, because he knows he doesn’t deserve them.

Realistically the best most perfect, most beautiful autobot of all time is probably thinking of how much Rodimus is fragging up, or what he’d do in the captain’s chair. Or worst of all, somehow thinking of how to fix him. He didn’t need fixing. He is a fine, totally normal mech. Just a little rough around the edges, and maybe wired a bit different. And lonely. No, not lonely, never lonely.

He downs his drink, when did that get there, and thinks, nah Thunderclash probably isn’t like that. Frag, this sucks. Can’t everyone see that Thunderclash is too perfect for him? He doesn’t deserve a partner as good as him.

He gets up, pays an almost forgotten tab, takes one last look at Thunderclash. The mech is talking to others, smiling and happy and maybe a bit beautiful, despite the terrible paint job. His spark sinks knowing he could never be good enough for him. He leaves, hugging his chest, shoulders hunched.

The walk back to his hab is uneventful, and his mind wanders to the rodpad waiting for him. He loves that pad with all his spark. It’s so nice to create, and though it’s not as fun as spray painting as a medium back in Nyon, his spark still throbs to conjure something from nothing. No one can copy or ever take that away from me.

He looks down at the spinner in his servo - he never thought it’d be so helpful. He never thought he'd be able to use it without other mech's laughing either. Still not brave enough to use it infront of his second, and co-captain though…

That aside, the past couple of weeks have been… nice. Feels like I’m progressively getting better at doing things. I just struggle, a lot. And I really don’t know if it’s just me and all in my helm, but everything feels so much better. So much clearer. Easier.

Punching in the access codes, an overwhelming sense of dread washes over him. Something is going to go wrong soon. Whenever I feels happy, disaster always, _always_ comes from it. I can’t ever be happy without something terrible coming from it.

He flops onto his recharge slab, resigning himself to looking at that ever familiar patch of ceiling. Thunderclash must be using him, in some kind of play to make himself look better, and Rodimus look worse. There’s just no way Thunderclash would like him without getting anything in return. He must be using me to maintain and uphold his best autobot title.

“Thunderclash taims the flaming idiot from Nyon,” he says to no one, his best race announcer voice sounding hollow in the dark, throwing his arms up in the air and watches the digits flex.

But he does so much nice stuff, and that’s a hard act to keep up without believing in it. He lets his arms drop to his sides. And he really has done a lot for me. Small stuff, but in the grand scheme of things they’ve added up real fast. Who knew someone could be so nice to him, and possibly get nothing in return?

Leaving the elevator door open for him, praising his good ideas, standing up for him when a random mech in Swerve’s scrutinizes his ideas or his past. There’s no way. Absolutely no way. Thunderclash listens to everything I say without harshly criticizing it, without waiting for his turn to talk, without rolling his optics. He listens, and he _remembers_ what I say, and doesn’t even get in the way. He lets me do my own thing, and supports my decisions?

Oh my goodness I’ve been a fool. But still, there’s no way no way _anyone_ would ever care about me that way. Yeah Drift cares, but we’re friends and we’re pretty set on staying friends. Thunderclash cares romantically and that’s... that’s one hell of a wild thought. The best autobot cares about the worst autobot. The autobot that destroyed Nyon. That killed his own friends and citymates. That set flame to the only home besides the Lost Light that he ever really had, or loved.

That mech shouldn’t like him. No fragging way. I need to stop him from getting hurt. That mech will find out the real me and absolutely be heartbroken, he’ll hate me when he finds out my past and how unimaginably terrible I actually am. Hate me forever and ever, and he brings his servos to cover the sob that escapes him. There’s no way Thunderclash could care about him after that. No one ever does.

If the rumors are true, and he does like me, then I can’t feel the same way. How can I? How can I return those feelings when I can’t even like myself? When everything I touch turns to smoldering disgusting ash and nightmares?

 

 ~o0o~                                                                             

 

Much to Drift’s concern, Rodimus wasn’t present during the last few days. He’d shown up for things he needed to attend to, but he was never really _there_. His optics had no sparkle.

He knew he’d get a message from him asking for help soon. His best friend and captain usually knew when to get help, and never let himself spiral too long without giving in to a good spark to spark talk.

When he did get the ping for emotional assistance, he gently excused himself from his current company, and made his way over. Rodimus did have problems with his emotions, and sometimes needed help untangling them - maybe this is one such an occasion.

The room is dark when Drift enters. The hallway light illuminating Rodimus curled up under blankets on his berth.

Drift closes the door and sits down next to him, “how can I help?”

The blankets shuffle, and Rodimus’ optics emerge from the gloom, “that’s a pretty big question.”

Drift lets him think about it, watching the mech’s optics scrunch through a variety of emotions.

“Rumors are that Thunderclash has some sort of crush on me, and if they’re true, then I don’t think he will because I suck.”

Drift makes a sound of affirmation, and gives the mech a little shove. He complies and moves over to give Drift room to lay down. They both stare up at the ceiling.

“What does sucking have to do with Mr.Bigshot-Thunderclash?”

Rodimus snorts at the name, but otherwise remains silent.

“If we get into a relationship then I’m afraid,” he says, drifting off, “I dunno, I’m afraid he’ll learn what the real me is like and hate me.”

“That sure is a worst case scenario, yeah. Most curious to me is that you’ve actually considered Thunderclash as dating material.” He turns his helm to look at his friend. That’d be pretty big for the mech to be willing to open himself up to another mech like that.

“That’s the weirdest thing: that I’m even considering him!” he says, gesturing wildly with his servos, “but he has great qualities, and he’s been surprisingly and consistently nice, and comfortable I guess?” He turns his helm to meet Drift’s optics. “I dunno Drift… I’m fawning over him just like his stupid fans.”

Drift can read the genuine concern in his optics, and the _wary/concern/uncertainty_ in the field that’s comfortably wrapped its way around him.

“If that’s fawning then you got a lot to learn, mech,” a snort of indignation as response, “but honestly, you don’t think he’d be able to handle you?”

“Yeah - I don’t really have a great track record with this stuff. And I mean, he’s perfect and I’m so obviously...not. We’ll clash, just like his paintjob,” he whispers that last part. Bright, sad and desperate optics shutter at Drift, “I don’t think I deserve him. I don’t... think he’ll like me… when he gets to know the real me. I don’t think I’m worth his time. I don’t want to like him because I know this’ll end poorly like all things I do. He’ll hate me. I don’t... I can’t… I won’t be able to handle that Drift.” Tears bubble at the edges of that beautiful mech’s optics.

“Roddy,” Drift whispers, gripping Rodimus’ helm and redirecting the mech’s wandering optics toward him, “all new relationships carry this risk. If it comes down to it you both would be able to talk it out. He’s an understanding mech, he’d be able to handle at least that. But for Primus’ sake, you haven’t even asked the mech out yet. I can confirm that he does have strong feelings for you, and if he ever messes with you in ways you don’t like, he’d be dead before Ultra Magnus could look my way.” He wipes the tears away with thumbs, and Rodimus leans into them, optics closing.

“Yeah yeah I know…” his optics flash open, “wait you can confirm? Feelings?”

Drift can’t help but smile, Primus does he ever love this mech. “Roddy, who do you think sent you those gifts?”

“Oh. I really didn’t think too hard about it,” he says pausing, realization dawning on an increasingly ridiculously deadpan face. “He did, didn’t he.”

Drift’s smiles spreads into a wicked grin, “yuuup.” He draws out the word for comedic emphasis, glad to feel Rodimus’ field lightening.

“Wow… He sure does know me.” His optics are distant and duller now, accessing long term memory.

“From afar, Roddy. He’s watched you, and is completely content to just… be on the sidelines rooting you on. He doesn’t mind you despising him, though that does seem to have changed eh?” he says nuzzling into Rodimus’ helm, “but as long as you’re happy, he’s content. _And_ , if you watched him a fraction of the time he’s had spark-optics for you, you’d see he’s far from perfect.”

“He’s really fine with all that? If I didn’t have any feelings for him, he’d be ok with that?”

“As long as you’re happy, yup.”

“Wow…” He moves to take place staring up at the ceiling again, “that’s really intense.”

Drift’s gaze joins him. A comfortable silence follows, and Drift lets himself relax further into the berth. Rodimus’ field is warm, and content.

“Tell me some of the reasons why he’s not perfect - got a good feeling this’ll be funny.”

“Ok. You ready?” He can feel Rodimus nod next to him. “He didn’t realize Earth has a booming culture until he met Swerve.” This garners a chuckle from Rodimus. “He couldn’t connect me to Deadlock, and doubted my claim that I’ve taken more lives than anyone else in the room. Not that I was boasting, or want to be reminded of my past, but it’s ridiculous - do I really look like a pacifist?”

“No, you don’t - too pointy. But to be fair on him, you _have_ gotten quite a few frame changes. Plus, you’re a good person, and he must have sensed that or, you know, your aura or something.”

“Ah, yeah I didn’t think of that. Anyway, you remember when he tripped over his own pedes when he saw you smiling at him that one time?”

“I remember that, yeah,” Rodimus says, beaming, “I felt so powerful that day.”

“I even have this one recording of him if you want to hear. Don’t ask how I got it.”

“Yeah, sure. Go ahead.”

Drift powers up his helm speakers, and plays the clip.

It starts quiet. Rodimus immediately recognizes the roomtone of Swerve's.

“I’m basically a big softie compared to you lot.” There's a small bit of background laughter. “It’s true, it’s true.” Thunderclash's voice drifts out, frown audibly forming. “I’ve managed to be in the right place at the right time… sometimes even doing a bit of the right things…” He emits a small chuckle, “and that’s what I’m known for now… Anyone could have taken my place and it wouldn’t have made a difference.”

The recording cuts out.

Rodimus is shocked. The greatest autobot of all time feels some of the same things he does?

“Wow, I never would have thought.”

Drift gives a hum of affirmation, and they lay in comfortable silence for a while.

“Thanks Drift for talking me through this. I… I want to see if this relationship will work out. I’ve barely talked to him, so there’s a high risk of failure, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“You'll ask him out?”

“Absolutely. Gunna rock his world with it.”

They laugh together, and Rodimus is so happy to have these mechs in his life.

 

 ~o0o~                                                                             

 

Thunderclash watched with a touch of pride as Rodimus conducted himself with confidence during this latest meeting. Mostly visibly paying attention, asking questions, and coordinating his idea for ship wide activities directed towards bored troublemakers - this time, spinner in servo. He offers his suggestions and… experience riddled advice, and Rodimus accepts them. It feels amazing, and the experience flies by.

By the meeting’s end, Rodimus curiously stays behind to offer small talk to everyone else. In the midst of a conversation, Thunderclash can’t help but notice Drift giving their captain a slap on the back and a thumbs up before heading out. That… is very interesting, but not enough to stop conversation to investigate. Drift is always very good at congratulating and encouraging their captain, so perhaps that’s all it was.   

Rodimus, noticing the post-meeting conversations dying out, stations himself at the exit. He takes advantage of the spot to say goodbye as Megatron, then Ultra Magnus filter out. So professional. _Nice_.

Thunderclash approaches, and he steps in front of the mech, effectively stopping him from leaving. A way of nervousness washes over him, wha-oh what if that was seen as too aggressive. Too late to abandon the plan now.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Absolutely,” is the answer he was hoping for from that big smile, taller framed mech. Mech he can feel his field from here, full of warmth and caring. It’s kinda cute. But nope, gotta concentrate.

“Great!” He says, twisting his frame to lean out into the fall to check for potential eavesdroppers. No one nearby, wonderful. He can feel amusement bloom in Thunderclash’s field, but that’s besides any point. He closes the door for good measure, and looks back up at the ever patient autobot.

“Ok. Well,” he casts his optics about, no longer able to look the mech in the optics. Nope, he’s gotta do this - no backing out now. Square up shoulders, deep vent, and.. “I was wondering if you’d like to go out sometime? For a drink or a flick, or something?”

Thunderclash is absolutely taken aback by the question. Optics shuttering and mouth hanging open a little, Rodimus can’t help but think, now _that_ is definitely cute.

Silence fills the air, and still nervous for his answer, Rodimus looks down at his spinnerless, fiddling servos.

“My goodness,” Rodimus looks back up at him, “I’d love to.” The mech absolutely beams and radiates happiness. Rodimus lets it flood over him. “What made you change your mind? I was under the impression that you absolutely wanted nothing to do with me.”

“I...had time to think. My problems weren’t with you, but myself. I’m sorry for how I treated you...Hopefully you’ll give me another chance?”

“Of course, Rodimus,” Thunderclash manages to make out, a small portion of embarrassing static joining the sounds. He feels the corners of his optics start to lubricate. He wipes them away, smiling.

“And.. thank you for the gifts… you.. you really saved the day with that one. Thank you.”

He’s surprised, that’s for sure. He never expected to be thanked, to be validated like that, to feel so, so content. His smile turns soft, and a blush forms.

“I’m glad I could help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Completely out of my comfort zone, and way (way) above my usual monthly word count, I'd count this as a moderate success. Hope it was enjoyable! Thank you for reading!
> 
> (Let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with, or if there's any glaring errors!)


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